A Black Tie Affair
by Greyella
Summary: Bella: dressed to kill. Cissa: picks a strange time to play mental chess. Implied Blackcest. Tiny hints of BL/LV & NM/LM


**Disclaimers:** Nothing too explicit, but contains heavy connotations of Blackcest. BL/LV, and NM/LM implied.

**Author's Note I:** Not in the MWR universe. This was an old story beginning that I never did anything with. Figured I'd edit it a bit and upload it as a one-shot. Writing style is a bit different than my usual as the core of the writing is from a year or so ago.

* * *

Perhaps it was the ingrained pureblood tradition, but Bellatrix couldn't bring herself to don pants.

Pants. The long-standing tacit taboo for women of upper-class wizarding society. Not that Bellatrix had any qualms about breaking such forbidden. (After all, by her very Death Eater status, she lived taboo). Bellatrix remained a warrior woman amongst men; the crowning star of the inner circle. _His_ best lieutenant, forever favored over malingering Malfoy. _His_ most faithful…most devoted. Gender, however, played glass ceiling at times; Bella had been dubbed every derogatory name in the book. By comrades, enemies alike. Still, her wand banished all slurs aside, the brushing broom, an under-rug-sweeper. Fifteen years, she had endured in Azkaban, and still her life persisted. Carelessly, she cut enemies and cast cackles while they lay bleeding.

All this, and yet, _pants_ still irked her.

The witch approached and closet doors threw open, commanded by haughty. A vast array of darkened robes, gowns, and corsets awaited (they, the hung). Nimble in hand, Bellatrix perused her bruised-colored collection; a lazy wand shifted the fabrics one-by-one. The eagle-eye caught. Movement halted upon wanding command, silent the sure.

The closet presented a pitch-black outfit with crimson embellishments. Gown, neither ornate nor simple, the neckline cut provocatively low, and the form then dipped inward to accommodate slim hips and accentuate the bust. Tapered straps were the shoulder tease, sneaks of pale skin meant to peek between crimson leather ties…connecting to long sleeves of lace. The gown skirt was full with strategically placed gathers, yet still light enough for crucial-Crucio movement. In an enticing fashion, subtle crimsons painted blood swirls upon the bodice and trailed down the skirted material. The half corset overlay was simple black, but made of rich leather, complete with crimson hooks up the front. This ensemble fit such a warring-star, such a seductress of death.

Apparently satisfied with her choice, another wand flick. In a swish of blackened smoke that swirled about, the gown settled upon Bellatrix's form and solidified. Other women might have perceived formal gown-wear as forced constriction, but Bella herself was uninhibited within such _assumed_ confines.

She appreciated the tightness, the structure of the corset about her waist…and smirked at the carnal things it did to her ample cleavage. Truly, though, it felt more like armor to her rather than fashion (once hooked in that is). The laced arm-wear were her gauntlets. Her heeled leather boots; a secret weapon found upon the well-placed kick. The skirted gown caressed her bare legs, but left them free, to fight or to fuck…as she pleased.

She forewent undergarments.

It was the latest in high society fashion, so yes; approbation from Narcissa might have ensued if Bella had cared. (Though perhaps not the morbid color…) Bellatrix cared not for the intricate embroidery (swirls upon the bust) or the fact it was designer. Bella cared only that she was prepared; armed for any mission she might undertake. Though, one shouldn't take her practicality for lack of vanity; Bellatrix relished that she tempted the world's eyes in this form, death incarnate, this little death of men.

Vanity mirror. Opulent curls piled half upon the head with a sticking charm. But the dark witch didn't bother to check her reflection. Years of practice told her of success. Natural cherry lips and defined cheekbones required no enhancement. The only added touch was some kohl liner for onyx eyes. Her sisters had always envied her dark beauty that required no makeup. Even had she lacked, Bella would not have been slave to it as her youngest sister remained, chained by society.

The finishing touch remained her ever-present raven skull necklace; a present from the Dark Lord himself. It was the rare occasion that she removed it. It was purpose.

Footsteps climbed stairs. They sounded from behind her shut door. She ignored the knock. She ignored Cissy's clear voice,

"Bella?" It whispered softly.

But reluctance supposed that she would have a most difficult time pretending not to notice her sister's presence as it entered the room. Bellatrix smelled the vulnerability, the delicacy that was her sister. A dish not sampled. Bella prepared her pieces, knowing this game; apparently it was chess time.

Cissa spoke first, neutrally, "The occasion…?" A tentative first move.

"…is not your concern." Bellatrix was cold in response, a monotone throw-down.

If Narcissa surprised at her sister's attire (or disposition) no mention was made, and pokerface held upon careful porcelain. Bellatrix: always well dressed, but the blonde's keen eye found subtleties, hints toward event beyond that of ordinary.

White queen contemplated, quietly. Pawn or bishop? Pawn. Cissa played willingly into trap, for information's sake.

"The witching hour approaches…" A careful face, it waited for capture patiently.

"How fantastically lucky for me that I'm a sodding _witch_ then." Quip.

….and Bellatrix began to hook her corset manually; magic had not the deft fingers for finishing the job; it always seemed to latch unevenly.

Narcissa face twitched into the barest of smiles, at the Bella-banter. Another sacrificial pawn then. It seemed that the Black Queen was moody tonight. Cissa knew the further tweak; play the white bishop then.

"Lucius didn't mention a mission for toni—"

"Lucius is daft. As are you, if you assume I _only_ wear my best for the Dark Lord alone, Cissa-mine."

A very blonde eyebrow rose at this comment, thoughts diverging in several amusing directions. However, but wisely, the mouth clamped shut, retaining words that would have sparked her fickle sister's ire.

'_No…sometimes you wear nothing at'all…'_ Cissa smirked, knowing Bellatrix was favored by _Him_ for her gender at times. Many times.

"You'd do better to close your mind to me, sister, I should strike you for that last thought. Smutty thing you are." Bellatrix now was the eyebrow raise, glancing up from her furious hook latching.

Unexpectedly, (at the sudden castle loss) Narcissa blushed.

Bella ignored this (yet the mind intrigued…smirking). Hackles chuckled, and plotted consanguine goosebumps.

The last hook notched tightly. Bella spun around once, not in frivolity but to ensue nothing was loose. She plopped upon the vanity chair, despite the corset's constriction, and shoved feet unceremoniously into knee-high leather boots with crimson buttons to match. Magic did better with these snap buttons; Bella felt forty satisfying clicks.

Calculatingly, she approached her sister-opponent, a creature rather fetching in mint night robes. Bellatrix regarded her sibling appreciatively. Burning coals traveled embers across Narcissa's delicate clavicle. They burnt down to shapely hips and back up to cerulean eyes.

'_Gods, Bella-sister what…never…no…Him…wrong…crap.'_

The sky widened at the wavecrash-inventory that found her out. (Cissa's remaining pawns, the other bishop and castle. They drowned, in flames.)

Bella smirked as her sister's mind revealed flying thoughts, and the cause of further flushing cheeks. The dark witch cocked her head curiously at her fair sibling and approached, cocky walk the sly implication of invitation.

"_He_ wouldn't mind you know…" Bella crooned oddly, her hand tracing a jaw curvature less angular than her own.

Cissa's eyes grew in dilation; pupils, nearly eclipsing blue, were eager students acquiring the most alluring of unthinkable information.

"…even the Dark Lord can share _his_ Queen. After all, you're my _blood_…mine already."

Cissa's defenses washed away, leaving her as shore. Mask fell, by force and a clear hitch breathed from her lips gasped between them, onto Bella's hand.

The savored neck roll, and Bella appeared…in her element. And yet…a small retreat. Perhaps Bella took pity, or more likely she sought to bring the uncomfortable into air. Gentle the chuckle, gentle the air that brushed by Cissa's face in belling words.

"Worry not sister, I may _seek_ taboos to break, but even I wouldn't attempt _**that**_…"

Bellatrix softly cupped her sister's face and placed a slow kiss upon her porcelain cheek in farewell.

Narcissa shivered and fumed. Oh, she hated Bellatrix for this retreat, for it was giving Cissa the _pity_ win. Under those lips, Cissa trembled, and Bella smirked knowing that she'd won by losing.

And because Cissa refused to win by goddamn default, she let her king be put into taboo checkmate. And gave them both the win.

"Yes you would." And so the white queen fell to the Black willing, shaking in sentiment, hesitant hand dancing upon crimson corset hooks.

Bellatrix claimed victory and let her lips dip and trail, testing blonde waters at the pulse of a neck. Narcissa shivered at the sensuality of it. Bellatrix leaned in close, their bodies flushed together in reign, and whispered into blonde hair,

"No. I wouldn't. Well…that is unless I am _invited_, of course…"

At the clear implication, Narcissa whimpered, trembling quietly against nips. Bellatrix merely chuckled against a fluttering pulse and pulled away with a last nip, a last plump kiss to a flushed neck. She enjoyed the seed sown and stepped back to watch it fester…grow, if you will. And Bella most thoroughly enjoyed that Cissa no longer won by losing, but lost. How…ironically expected.

"My cloak," she directed, and added as if a forgotten (not loaded) afterthought "Oh…and _do_ enjoy your _husband_ tonight, Cissa-mine…"

Bellatrix did _so_ relish playing with desire…especially that of her own innocent sister.

Narcissa lowered her eyes, appearing to ignore the slighted comment. Yet shaky hands betrayed her tumbling thoughts. Bella satisfied in watch as the blonde pulled an outer cloak (embellished with silvers) off the wall hook. Cissa attempted to keep her breath even as she laid it upon her sister's frame and fastened the neck clasp. They were close. Golden eyelashes fluttered and Bella's hand, perhaps mistakenly, grazed her stomach. Azure eyes flickered briefly to full cherry lips; they pulled into a natural pout and hovered. Narcissa backed away, cheeks still the rosy, her mind-body treacherous and wanting.

But the lips leaned in. Bella's extra inch or so had its advantages.

"Don't bother waiting up. Though I do suspect you'll now have other more _engaging_ things to…_do_." Bella rasped heat into an earshell, the tip of her tongue just barely tracing.

It amazed Narcissa how Bellatrix could sexually corrupt even the simplest of sentiments. Unwillingly, the smallest of moans slipped out between Cissa's lips. And a rumbling chuckle bit her as vibration.

"Remember. With invitation. And I'm not opposed to begging. Until our next game then, deary."

Goodbye hands stroked her hips in forbidden brief, before familiar black smoke formed around them; Bellatrix made to apparate.

Just before her sister had completely dematerialized, Narcissa regained her wits, and called out to her,

"But Bella! At least…tell me _where _you plan to go at this hour!"

Perhaps not the _best_ response to the moments of before, but it least it was…a response.

But the black cloud had swallowed her sister whole, and as the mist flew out the open window, Narcissa heard through the vapor,

"Out."

Only Bella. Only Bella could both leave her, and answer in the most frustrating manner possible.

She was left alone, with just her deviant devices. In the wake of that dramatic exit, Narcissa was horrified to feel her skin tingling in what usually was the result of her husband's…better attentions. Half her brain fought the feeling, but the other filled with visions of black sensuality writhing against her nightgown. And wild curls beneath it.

Mind-body separation indeed? Cissa thought not; her body seemed its own mind and relished it. Her sister's dark eyes and cherry lips panted thoughts. Bella. Bellatrix. Her thighs trembled. Bella.

She went to find Lucius.

* * *

**Author's Note II:** R & R my pretties.

(Credit: Billy Joel - _She's Always a Woman to Me_)


End file.
